


Twelfth of Never

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s07e20 Institutional Memory, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-05
Updated: 2006-11-05
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Danny thinks about life with CJ





	Twelfth of Never

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

The Twelfth of Never   
CJ/Danny. Spoilers through "Institutional Memory"

The characters belong to Sorkin, Wells, et. al. J Johnny Mathis belongs to the ages.

Twelfth of Never --copyright 1957 Paul Francis Webster, Jerry Livingston

He had just finished washing his hands when he noticed that he had left the toilet seat in an upright position. Correcting the situation and rewashing, he laughed to himself, "She’s not the only one that will need training." Then the emotional rollercoaster of the day hit him and he began to tremble. He made his way back to the bed and sat down carefully, not wanting to disturb the woman sleeping so peacefully beside him.

He wasn't sure what would happen when her Secret Service escort knocked on his door earlier that evening. He knew he had convinced her that they could make it work when she kept pulling at her coat sash and asked him if she should take one of the board of directors positions, but he also knew that he had to make sure that she knew he didn't want to run her life, he wanted their lives to run alongside each other. As she nodded her head in response to his simple questions, he knew he had gotten through.

Tomorrow she would tell Matt Santos "no". When he was taking off her scarf and coat, she had asked him if he wanted to go with her to the OEOB. He had been about to tell her that he trusted her when he realized that in the indirect manner of so many women, she wanted him with her when she told the President-elect that she was putting herself ahead of country this time. There weren't going to be many times when this amazing creature would need him in the role of "protector/defender", but when she did, he wanted to assume it. Matt Santos, Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn would know that they would not be able to bully or cajole his lady. He blushed as he realized that he sounded like the stereotypical hero of a historical romance with Fabio on the cover, and had to admit that maybe, once in a blue moon, it wasn't that bad a persona to assume. If the Lord hadn't wanted men to protect their women from other men every once in a while, then He shouldn't have created testosterone.

As he drifted off to sleep, he entered that state where dreams and semi-conscious imagination intertwine. His imagination soared and the possibilities of their life together unfolded like a digital slideshow.

Her voice, at the same time both shaky and confident, saying, "with this ring I thee wed", slipping the band on his finger.

Her profile, her head draped with an Irish lace mantilla, as she convinced a prince of Dubai to match Hollis' $10 billion in seed money.

Walking into the bathroom after a particularly frustrating day with his publisher and seeing the pregnancy testing kit on the vanity.

Lying in bed with her, a little gift of God between them, marveling at perfect though miniature ears, wondering how slowly the next six weeks would pass. Watching her glow and her slow smile at the dedication of the Bartlet Library whenever their eyes met.

Standing behind the son with her eyes, already almost 4 feet tall and not yet 3 years old, helping him to go to the bathroom "like a big boy".

Sitting on the glider on the deck watching the sun set into the ocean, his son asleep in his lap, his wife beside him under his arm, his daughter in his wife’s arms, her ten tiny fingernails grasping at the breast that was nourishing her.

Watching his wife address the UN on C-SPAN when his daughter comes up to shyly tell him that she's started her first period.

Helping the 14 year-old son who already towered above him understand that he will never really understand women, remembering how he helped a then shy young man in the White House in much the same way, and wondering if that now-powerful member of the Democratic party also remembered.

Standing in the back of the church, his white hair in sharp contrast to the black of his tuxedo, waiting to escort the suddenly grown up princess with his red locks and his wife’s smile to the man who said he wanted to make her as happy as her father had made her mother.

Her hands, now covered with a fine net of wrinkles, as she changed the décor of the fishbowl holding Gail’s great-grandchildren.

Suddenly, he was back in his parent’s house at age 5. Angie, the babysitter, was playing her 45’s on his parent’s Magnavox stereo console. The sweet sounds of Johnny Mathis’ voice came up the staircase:

"You ask how much I need you, must I explain?  
I need you, oh my darling, like roses need rain.  
You ask how long I’ll love you, I’ll tell you true:  
Until the twelfth of never, I’ll still be loving you."


End file.
